Part 22

There, standing in our nation's home, My memory ever pictures thee As some bright dame of ancient Rome, Modest, yet all a queen should be. I love to keep thee in my mind, Thus mated with the pure of old, When love with lofty deeds combined, Made women great and warriors bold.

When first I saw thee standing there, And felt the pressure of thy hand, I scarcely thought if thou wert fair, Or of the highest in the land; I knew thee gentle, pure as great; All that was lovely, meek and good; And so I half forgot thy state In love of thy bright womanhood.

And many a sweet sensation came That lingers in my bosom yet, Like that celestial, holy flame That vestals tremble to forget And on the earth, or in the sky, There's not a thought more true and free Than that which beats within my heart, In pleasant memory of thee.

Lady, I gladly would have brought Some gem that on thy heart may live; But this poor wreath of woven thought Is all the wealth I have to give. All wet with heart-dew, fresh with love, I lay the garland at thy feet, Praying the angel forms above To weave thee one more pure and sweet.

THE WIDOW JENKINS.

In humblest vales the patriot heart may glow.

J. T. FIELDS.

At the time Colonel Watson, the commander of a corps of regulars and tories, was making inroads upon the Pedee, he pitched his tent one night near the house of a widow named Jenkins, and took up his own quarters under her roof. Learning, in the course of the evening, that she had three sons fighting under General Marion, he commenced the following conversation with her:

"So, madam, they tell me you have several sons in General Marion's camp; I hope it is not true."

She said it was very true, and was only sorry that it was not a thousand times truer.

"A thousand times truer, madam!" replied he, with great surprise, "pray what can be your meaning in that?"

"Why, sir, I am only sorry that in place of three, I have not three thousand sons with General Marion."

"Aye, indeed! well then, madam, begging your pardon, you had better send for them immediately to come in and join his majesty's troops under my command: for as they are rebels now in arms against their king, should they be taken, they will be hung as sure as ever they were born."

"Why, sir, you are very considerate of my sons; for which, at any rate, I thank you. But, as you have begged my pardon for giving me this advice, I must beg yours for not taking it. My sons, sir, are of age, and must and will act for themselves. And as to their being in a state of rebellion against their king, I must take the liberty, sir, to deny that."

"What, madam! not in rebellion against their king? Shooting at and killing his majesty's subjects like wolves! don't you call that rebellion against their king, madam?"

"No, sir, they are only doing their duty, as God and nature commanded them, sir."

"The d----l they are, madam!"

"Yes, sir, and what you and every man in England would glory to do against the king, were he to dare to tax you contrary to your own consent and the constitution of the realm. 'Tis the king, sir, who is in rebellion against my sons, and not they against him. And could right prevail against might, he would as certainly lose his head as ever king Charles the First did."[83]

[83] Weems' Marion, pp. 182-3.

A FAITHFUL LITTLE GIRL.

Labor in the path of duty Beam'd up like a thing of beauty.

C. P. CRANCH.

"A very profane and profligate sailor, who belonged to a vessel lying in the port of New York, went out one day from his ship into the streets, bent on folly and wickedness. He met a pious little girl, whose feelings he tried to wound by using vile and sinful language. The little girl looked him earnestly in the face, warned him of his danger, and, with a solemn tone, told him to remember that he must meet her shortly at the bar of God. This unexpected reproof greatly affected him. To use his own language, 'it was like a broadside, raking him fore and aft, and sweeping by the board every sail and spar prepared for a wicked cruise.' Abashed and confounded, he returned to his ship. He could not banish from his mind the reproof of this little girl. Her look was present to his mind; her solemn declaration, 'You must meet me at the bar of God,' deeply affected his heart. The more he reflected upon it, the more uncomfortable he felt. In a few days his hard heart was subdued, and he submitted to the Saviour."

HOSPITALITY OF CALIFORNIA WOMEN.

Blest that abode where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair.

GOLDSMITH.

In his Three Years in California, the Rev. Walter Colton speaks as follows of the native women:

Their hospitality knows no bounds; they are always glad to see you, come when you may; take a pleasure in entertaining you while you remain; and only regret that your business calls you away. If you are sick, there is nothing which sympathy and care can devise or perform, which is not done for you. No sister ever hung over the throbbing brain or fluttering pulse of a brother with more tenderness and fidelity. This is as true of the lady whose hand has only figured her embroidery or swept her guitar, as of the cottage-girl wringing from her laundry the foam of the mountain stream; and all this from the _heart_! If I must be cast, in sickness or destitution, on the care of a stranger, let it be in California; but let it be before avarice has hardened the heart and made a god of gold.

SARAH LANMAN SMITH.

Where'er the path of duty led, With an unquestioning faith she trod.

T. W. RENNE.

Among the many names endeared to the friends of missions, is that of Sarah L. Smith, a native of Norwich, Connecticut. Her maiden name was Huntington. She was born in 1802; made a profession of religion in youth; became the wife of the Rev. Eli Smith in July, 1833; embarked with him for Palestine the September following; and died at Boojah, near Smyrna, the last day of September, 1836.

Her work as a foreign missionary was quickly finished. She labored longer as a home missionary among the Moheagans, who live in the neighborhood of Norwich, and there displayed most conspicuously the moral heroism of her nature. In conjunction with Sarah Breed, she commenced her philanthropic operations in the year 1827. "The first object that drew them from the sphere of their own church, was the project of opening a Sabbath school for the poor Indian children of Moheagan. Satisfied that this was a work which Heaven would approve, they marked out their plans, and pursued them with untiring energy. Boldly they went forth, and, guided by the rising smoke or sounding axe, visited the Moheagans from field to field, and from hut to hut, till they had thoroughly informed themselves of their numbers, condition, and prospects. The opposition they encountered, the ridicule and opprobrium showered upon them from some quarters, the sullenness of the natives, the bluster of the white tenants, the brush wood and dry branches thrown across their pathway, could not discourage them. They saw no 'lions in the way,' while mercy, with pleading looks, beckoned them forward."

The Moheagans then numbered a little more than one hundred, only one of whom was a professor of religion. She was ninety-seven years of age. In her hut the first prayer meeting and the first Sabbath school gathered by these young ladies, were held.

Miss Breed soon removed from that part of the country, and Miss Huntington continued her labors for awhile alone. She was at that time very active in securing the formation of a society and the circulation of a subscription, having for their object the erection of a chapel. She found, ere long, a faithful co-worker in Miss Elizabeth Raymond. They taught a school in conjunction, and aside from their duties as teachers, were, at times, "advisers, counsellors, lawgivers, milliners, mantuamakers, tailoresses and almoners."[84]

[84] Missionary Offering, p. 86. We are indebted to the same source for most of the particulars embraced in this article.

"The school was kept in a house on Fort Hill, leased to a respectable farmer in whose family the young teachers boarded by alternate weeks, each going to the scene of labor every other Sabbath morning and remaining till the evening of the succeeding Sabbath, so that both were present in the Sabbath school, which was twice as large as the other. A single incident will serve to show the dauntless resolution which Miss Huntington carried into her pursuits. Just at the expiration of one of her terms of service during the winter, a heavy and tempestuous fall of snow blocked up the roads with such high drifts, that a friend who had been accustomed to go for her and convey her home in bad weather, and had started for this purpose in his sleigh, turned back, discouraged. No path had been broken, and the undertaking was so hazardous that he conceived no female would venture forth at such a time. He therefore called at her father's house to say that he should delay going for her till the morrow. What was his surprise to be met at the door by the young lady herself, who had reached home just before, having walked the whole distance on the hard crust of snow, _alone_, and some of the way over banks of snow that entirely obliterated the walls and fences by the roadside."

While at Moheagan, Miss Huntington corresponded with the Hon. Lewis Cass, then Secretary of War, and secured his influence and the aid of that department. In 1832, a grant of nine hundred dollars was made from the fund devoted to the Indian department, five hundred being appropriated towards the erection of missionary buildings and four for the support of a teacher. Before leaving the Moheagan, for a wider field, this devoted and heroic missionary had the happiness of seeing a chapel, parsonage and school house, standing on "the sequestered land"[85] of her forest friends, and had thus partially repaid the debt of social and moral obligation to a tribe who fed the first and famishing settlers in Connecticut, and strove to protect them against the tomahawk of inimical tribes, and whose whoop was friendly to freedom when British aggressors were overriding American rights.

[85] That was its original name. It is a reserved tract; contains between two and three thousand acres, and a considerable part is now occupied by white tenants. Its situation is on the Thames, between New London and Norwich.

A BROTHER SAVED BY HIS SISTER.

Brave spirits are a balsam to themselves.

CARTWRIGHT.

During the invasion of the Mohawk valley by Sir John Johnson, Samson Sammons, of Johnstown, and his three sons, were taken captive early one morning in May. The females were not made prisoners. While a soldier was standing sentinel over the youngest son, named Thomas, who was about eighteen, the latter, who was not more than half dressed, said he was not going to Canada in such a plight; that he should need his shoes especially; and asked permission to go to his chamber and get his clothes. The favor was not granted; but Thomas, resolving to have his shoes, stepped towards the door, when the barbarous soldier pointed a bayonet at his back, and made a plunge. At that moment a sister, who had watched every movement with breathless anxiety, sprang forward, seized the gun, threw herself across its barrel, bore it to the ground, and thus saved her brother's life. After a brief struggle, the soldier disengaged his weapon, but before he had time to make another plunge, an officer rushed forward and asked what was the trouble. The heroic girl stated the case, when the soldier was severely rebuked, and her brother permitted to obtain his shoes and all the raiment he desired.[86]

[86] It may be interesting to the reader to know that Thomas Sammons did not go to Canada. He was released in the afternoon of the same day, with some other persons who had been taken prisoners during the forenoon. Feigning extreme lameness in one foot, he attracted the attention and excited the sympathy of the widow of a British officer: she had resided in the neighborhood, knew many of the captives, and as some were her personal friends, she asked Sir John to permit their release. He did so; and on going into the field to select them, writes Colonel Stone, "she adroitly smuggled young Sammons into the group, and led him away in safety."

PATRIOTIC SACRIFICE OF MRS. BORDEN.

They love their land because it is their own.

HALLECK.

At the darkest period of the Revolution, New Jersey was, for a short time, full of British soldiers, and Lord Cornwallis was stationed at Bordentown.[87] He visited Mrs. Borden one day, at her elegant mansion, and made an effort to intimidate her. He told her that if she would persuade her husband and son, who were then in the American army, to join his forces, none of her property should be destroyed; but if she refused to make such exertions, he would burn her house, and lay waste her whole estate. Unintimidated and patriotic, she made the following bold reply, which caused the execution of the threat: "The sight of my house in flames would be a treat to me, for I have seen enough to know that you never injure what you have power to keep and enjoy. The application of a torch to my dwelling I should regard as the signal for your departure." And such it was.

[87] Major Garden.

MARGARET CORBIN.

Where cannon boomed, where bayonets clashed, There was thy fiery way.

SARA J. CLARKE.

An act similar to that recorded of Mrs. Pitcher at the battle of Monmouth, was performed by Mrs. Margaret Corbin at the attack on Fort Washington. Her husband belonged to the artillery; and, standing by his side and seeing him fall, she unhesitatingly took his place and heroically performed his duties. Her services were appreciated by the officers of the army, and honorably noticed by Congress. This body passed the following resolution in July, 1779:

"Resolved,--That Margaret Corbin, wounded and disabled at the battle of Fort Washington, while she heroically filled the post of her husband, who was killed by her side serving a piece of artillery, do receive during her natural life, or continuance of said disability, one-half the monthly pay drawn by a soldier in service of these States; and that she now receive out of public stores, one suit of clothes or value thereof in money."

BRAVERY OF MRS. CHANNING.

----The truly brave, When they behold the brave oppressed with odds, Are touched with a desire to shield or save.

BYRON.

Soon after the commencement of the Revolutionary war, the family of Dr. Channing,[88] being in England, removed to France, and shortly afterwards sailed for the United States. The vessel, said to be stout and well-armed, was attacked on the voyage by a privateer, and a fierce engagement ensued. During its continuance, Mrs. Channing stood on the deck, exhorting the crew not to give up, encouraging them with words of cheer, handing them cartridges, and aiding such of them as were disabled by wounds. When, at length, the colors of the vessel were struck, she seized her husband's pistols and side arms, and flung them into the sea, declaring that she would prefer death to the witnessing of their surrender into the hands of the foe.

[88] This anecdote, which is recorded in several works, cannot refer to the late William Ellery Channing, as he was not born at the commencement of the Revolution.

COMMENDABLE COURAGE.

Have chivalry's bold days A deed of wilder bravery In all their stirring lays?

SARA J. CLARKE

An incident which occurred at one of the forts in the Mohawk valley, might have been mentioned in connection with the heroism of Schoharie women. It is briefly related by the author of Border Wars of the American Revolution. "An interesting young woman," he writes, "whose name yet lives in story among her own mountains, perceiving, as she thought, symptoms of fear in a soldier who had been ordered to a well without the works, and within range of the enemy's fire, for water, snatched the bucket from his hands, and ran forth for it herself. Without changing color, or giving the slightest evidence of fear, she drew and brought back bucket after bucket to the thirsty soldiers, and providentially escaped without injury."

THE HEROINE OF SHELL'S BUSH.

I dare do all that may become a man. Who dares do more, is none.

SHAKSPEARE.

For three-fourths of a century, there has been a wealthy settlement of Germans four or five miles north of the village of Herkimer, in the upper part of the Mohawk valley, called Shell's Bush. Among the early settlers, was John Christian Shell, who had a family of six brave sons and a no less brave wife. When, on the sixth of August, 1781, a Scotch refugee named Donald McDonald, at the head of sixty-six tories and Indians, attacked that settlement, Mrs. Shell acted the part of an heroic dame. The house was built for border emergencies, and when the enemy approached, the husband and older boys[89] fled from the fields, entered their castle, and strongly barricaded the doors. From two o'clock in the afternoon until twilight, the besieged kept up an almost incessant firing, Mrs. Shell loading the guns for her husband and older sons to discharge. During the siege, McDonald attempted to force the door with a crow bar, and was shot in the leg, seized by Shell and drawn within doors. Exasperated at this bold feat, the enemy soon attempted to carry the fortress by assault, five of them leaping upon the walls and thrusting their guns through the loopholes. At that moment the cool and courageous woman seized an axe, smote the barrels and bent and spoiled them. Her husband then resorted to stratagem to drive the besiegers away: running up stairs and calling to Mrs. Shell in a very loud voice, he said that Captain Small was approaching with help from Fort Dayton. Then raising his voice to its highest pitch, he exclaimed, "Captain Small, march your company round upon this side of the house. Captain Getman, you had better wheel your men off to the left, and come up upon that side."[90] Fearing the phantom troops whom Mr. Shell's imagination had conjured, the enemy shouldered their guns--crooked barreled and all--and quickly buried themselves in the dense forest.

[89] The two youngest boys, who were twins and about eight years old, were captured; and when the enemy fled, they were carried away as prisoners.

[90] Border Wars of the American Revolution, vol. 2, p. 153.

FATHER TAYLOR'S WIDOWED FRIEND.

Humble toil and heavenward duty.

MRS. HALE.

"A pious widow, who resided among ignorant and vicious neighbors in the suburbs of B----, Massachusetts, determined to do what she could for their spiritual benefit; and so she opened her little front room for weekly prayer meetings, and engaged some pious Methodists to aid in conducting them. Much of the seed thus scattered on a seemingly arid soil, produced fruit. One instance deserves special notice.

"Among others who attended, was a young sailor of intelligent and prepossessing countenance. A slight acquaintance with him discovered him to be very ignorant of even the rudiments of education; but, at the same time, he had such manifestly superior abilities, that the widow became much interested in his spiritual welfare, and could not but hope that God would in some way provide for his further instruction, convert him and render him useful. But in the midst of her anticipations, he was suddenly summoned away to sea. He had been out but a short time when the vessel was seized by a British privateer and carried into Halifax, where the crew suffered by a long and wretched imprisonment.

"A year had passed away, during which the good woman had heard nothing of the young sailor. Still she remembered and prayed for him with the solicitude of a mother. About this time, she received a letter from her relations, who resided in Halifax, on business which required her to go to that town. While there, her habitual disposition to be useful, led her with a few friends to visit the prison with Bibles and tracts. In one apartment were the American prisoners. As she approached the grated door, a voice shouted her name, calling her mother, and a youth appeared and leaped for joy at the grate. It was the lost sailor boy! They wept and conversed like mother and son, and when she left she gave him a Bible--his future guide and comfort. During her stay at Halifax, she constantly visited the prison, supplying the youth with tracts, religious books, and clothing, and endeavoring by her conversation to secure the religious impression made on his mind at the prayer meetings in B----. After many months she removed to a distant part of the provinces; and for years she heard nothing more of the young sailor.

"We pass over a period of many years, and introduce the reader to Father T----, the distinguished mariners' preacher in the city of B----. In a spacious and substantial chapel, crowded about by the worst habitations in the city, this distinguished man delivered every Sabbath, discourses as extraordinary, perhaps, as are to be found in the Christian world. In the centre column of seats, guarded sacredly against all other intrusion, sat a dense mass of mariners--a strange medley of white, black, and olive; Protestant, Catholic, and Pagan. On the other seats in the galleries, the aisles, the altar, and on the pulpit stairs, were crowded, week after week, and year after year--the families of sailors, and the poor who had no other temple--the elite of the city--the learned professor--the student--the popular writer--the actor--groups of clergymen, and the votaries of gayety and fashion, listening with throbbing hearts and wet eyes, to a man whose only school had been the forecastle, and whose only endowments were those of grace and nature.

"In the year 183--, an aged English local preacher moved into the city of B---- from the British provinces.

"The old local preacher was mingling in a public throng one day with a friend, when they met 'Father T----.' A few words of introduction led to a free conversation, in which the former residence of his wife in the city was mentioned, and allusion was made to her prayer meeting--her former name was asked by 'Father T----;' he seemed seized by an impulse--inquired their residence, hastened away, and in a short time arrived in a carriage, with all his family, at the home of the aged pair. There a scene ensued which must be left to the imagination of the reader. 'Father T----' was the sailor boy of the prayer meeting and the prison. The old lady was the widow who had first cared for his soul."

PICTURE OF A REVOLUTIONARY MOTHER.

This is my own, my native land.

SCOTT.

True wit is nature to advantage dressed.

POPE.

Mrs. Eliza Wilkinson resided during the Revolution on Yonge's island, thirty miles south of Charleston, South Carolina. She was a cheerful, witty and accomplished young widow, and a keen sufferer on account of her whig principles. Her letters, arranged by Mrs. Gilman, and published several years ago, afford a panoramic view of many dark scenes at the gloomiest period of American history, and beautifully daguerreotype her own pure and patriotic heart. A single extract will show her character. She visited the city of Charleston soon after its surrender, and witnessed the departure of her exiled friends. Referring to matters about that period, she writes:

"Once I was asked by a British officer to play the guitar.

"'I cannot play; I am very dull.'

"'How long do you intend to continue so, Mrs. Wilkinson?'

"'Until my countrymen return, sir!'

"'Return as what, madam?--prisoners or subjects?'

"'As conquerors, sir.'

"He affected a laugh. 'You will never see that, madam!'

"'I live in hopes, sir, of seeing the thirteen stripes hoisted once more on the bastions of this garrison.'

"'Do not hope so; but come, give us a tune on the guitar.'